


Seconds, Minutes, Months (Welcome Home, Airman Rhodes)

by quandong_crumble



Series: I am come home [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Everything is going to be alright, Homecoming, M/M, Reunions, Secret Relationship, under 1000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quandong_crumble/pseuds/quandong_crumble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever perceptive, Roberta Rhodes invites Tony to meet Rhodey at the airport with her, after Rhodey's first deployment. Awkward reuinions ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seconds, Minutes, Months (Welcome Home, Airman Rhodes)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Not Applicable (not_applicable)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_applicable/gifts).



> This was initially written as an askbox fix on Tumblr for Not Applicable, but it was always intended to fit into the _I am come home_ series.

It’s been months, and now Tony’s standing at the airport feeling overdressed and too young in his navy blue suit. He should have worn jeans. Rhodey always liked his ass in jeans. No, he shouldn’t be thinking like that while he’s standing next to Roberta, waiting for the plane carrying her definitely-not-allowed-to-be-gay-because-he’s-an-airman son. Not that Roberta Rhodes would care. In fact Tony’s pretty sure she knows that they’re more than friends. Still, he’s got to stop thinking about Rhodey and asses because he’s going to start pulling faces or blushing or something and he’s pretty sure there’s a rule about thinking these kind of things while you’re standing next to the guy’s mother.

It’s been months of cautiously worded letters and extravagant care packages that Tony didn’t dare fill with the things he really wanted to send. Months of worry, of the jolt of fear sharp as a knife through his gut every time he heard the fanfare of the news programs start. Months of feeling utterly alone despite Jarvis’ presence in the New York mansion while Howard flitted between coasts and Mamma flew around the country to hound politicians about Yugoslavia or West Africa or anywhere else that her charity groups decided were full of atrocities. Tony didn’t particularly care, still full of childhood bitterness for the unknown kids across the globe that got more of his mother than he did. 

He’s still musing about the past months, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels like a bored child, when the tone in the waiting room changes. It’s like a collective in-drawn breath, a gasp that stretches the air taught with tension. Roberta rushes forwards, leaving him alone. He gets the briefest glimpse of the radiant smile on her face before she’s well in front of him, gathering Rhodey against her in an almost painful-looking bear hug. Tony hangs back, an awkward grin on his face, and tries not to feel out of place. 

Rhodey looks so grown up in his uniform, tired and thinner than he was before he left. Tony tucks his hands in his pockets, then immediately removes them and balls them in loose fists against his thighs. He worries at a flap of skin on his thumb where he sliced it in the workshop and wonders what the hell he’s doing here, intruding on this. He doesn’t belong here, he’s not a part of this family. Rhodey probably doesn’t even want him here after their fight before he left, the fight Tony had convinced himself was one hundred per cent over until he saw Rhodey’s face just now, and now it feels like an awkward barrier in between them. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it any longer, though, because Rhodey’s met his eyes over Roberta’s shoulder and he’s breaking away from her. Tony unglues his feet from the carpet and takes a few steps to meet him halfway. They stand, face to face, both frozen with indecision. Tony wants to grab him in a hug, kiss him until they have to stop to breathe, crawl into his arms and cling for hours. He’s sort of peripherally aware that around him couples are hugging and kissing in greeting. A hard lump forms in his throat, lodges there and burns. They don’t have the freedom to do that in public.

“Uh, I missed you,” he squeezes out around the lump. He claps Rhodey’s shoulder awkwardly, grips it for a moment, and then stuffs his hands back in his pockets.

Rhodey’s smile is warm and full of promise of a proper reunion later, once they’ve found some privacy. “I missed you too. It’s good to be home.”


End file.
